


Ki Tales #1 - The Search Begins

by Kleinnak



Series: Ki Tales [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Multi, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleinnak/pseuds/Kleinnak
Summary: Ki the kobold has had a fairly easy life since she was found as a hatchling in the home of Nox, the shadar-kai monk. Now, only days after her 20th 'found day', Nox has vanished, leaving Ki with little more than a cryptic note to seek out a childhood friend in the far off city of Kannak. Where has Nox gone? What will Ki find in the sprawling human metropolis? Time will tell as Ki's search begins.
Relationships: Original D&D Character(s)/Original D&D Character(s), Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s) & Original Dungeons & Dragons Character(s)
Series: Ki Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015041
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox has enjoyed a long and varied life. At the moment, he's resting peacefully between expeditions, until a tiny titter interrupts his rest.

** NOX **

The kettle’s whistle pricks his elven ears. He smiles appreciatively and rises from his aged, but comfortable armchair. It’s been so dry that Nox can smell the steam from here.

It’s an incongruous home in its construction, but it suits his purposes. He has few requirements: a roof above his head and a place to brew his potions is more than sufficient. Over the last century, he’s had to add to it as necessity dictates.

Originally it was a simple hut with a firepit in the centre for cooking and brewing. That became the kitchen when he added a study for his books and scrolls. When people began settling in nearby Bodrats, he was forced to quickly convert the study into a bedroom for guests and patients. Consequently, he made yet another study, which required a proper hallway to link the three rooms.

He pauses at a note on his wall he doesn’t remember. It’s one of his odder habits, he freely admits. When he was young in Shadowfell, paper and writing materials were hard to come by. Instead, he took to scrawling out his thoughts on walls with charred sticks from his fires.

_ Jilaotto ill. Prepare soup and brew-- _

Nox draws his pen and crosses out the note. That’s been taken care of. It was little more than spring sniffles. All the child needed was some tamrof root soup and three sips of healing potion a day.

The kettle’s whistle dies the moment it’s plucked from the burner. In the distance he can see glow of the ‘great’ city of Kannak. It’s too far away to see in daylight, but with a population of six million, its lights dominate the night sky.

He despises the place. He understands the illusion of safety that cities provide, but little else. How can one see the stars with all that light? Without them, how does one admire the sheer scale of the universe and how truly small they are? Yet, even Nox cannot help but appreciate the haunting beauty of its nocturnal aura.

His eyes drift to the other source of artificial light in view. It’s a tiny, bright spot indicating the distant hut of Barus and Kirba. It’s their daughter, Jilaotto, who was ill.

He sniffs at the unpleasant memory. The girl has no idea how close she came to living with him. He doubts she knows it was he who pulled her into the world, either. He’s certainly never told her, and her parents likely have not, from shame.

He knew at once what was about to happen when her head began to emerge. Her skin was caramel, then he saw the tell-tale bumps on her forehead. They only meant one thing.

Jilaotto was a tiefling.

Predictably, her parents recoiled in horror at the sight. It was one of the few moments Nox had allowed his anger to get the better of him. He would not let Barus and Kirba give in to prejudice and misunderstanding. Not over something the innocent child had no say or control in.

Of course, had they not seen reason, he would have taken and raised Jilaotto himself. Fortunately that was not the case. In the meantime, they came to accept and love their silver-eyed, budding horned child as any proper mother and father should.

He still kept a close watch on them for Jilaotto’s first few years, just in case. He cannot help but feel protective. As Shadar-kai, he knows a thing or two about the world’s prejudices.

That said, Jilaotto would have found life with Nox tedious. When not away on expeditions, he spends most of his time brewing potions. Jilaotto, on the other hand, wishes to be an artificer, as her parents are. Nox knows she’ll succeed.

She’s been studying Nox’s books on runic magic and progressing rapidly. This is particularly impressive, considering she is twelve. Regardless, she finds the deeply fascinating subject of the idiosyncratic properties of the continent’s flora to be painfully dull.

He returns his attention to his tea, grinding the leaves in his mortar and pestle, releasing their juices. The faint aroma tingles his nose. He deposits the ground leaves into the teapot, pouring the still steaming water after. This fully brings out the scents, filling the kitchen.

It’s his own personal blend of curibell, valsam, and palastra. The curibell clears the sinuses, easing breathing. This makes it easier for the valsam to do its work as a mild sedative when inhaled. The palastra is a hallucinogen, which aids the mind in dreaming when imbibed.

It’s the only way he can truly rest any more. There are too many memories; particularly unpleasant ones. Not that he’s ever been good at turning off his mind. His conscious would rather spend time resting to catch up on all the thinking he didn’t have time to do when busy with other things.

He sets the teapot and a cup on a tray. The infused steam filling his nostrils is working already. There’s a faint skitter behind him as he exits the kitchen, bringing a soft smile to his face.

While most consider mice a nuisance, the sound of life in his little home pleases him. Especially when the mice have been surprisingly quiet despite the mild drought, which usually means a sharp increase in the tiny rodents’ numbers. Strange that he’s not heard more of them.

He returns to his study. He closes his eyes in reverie of the combined scent of the tea and his books. This will be a pleasant rest.

Instead of his chair he heads to a brightly embroidered rug in a corner. He kneels reverently upon the rug, then sets down the tray. He exhales deeply, bowing low over the spout of the teapot, inhaling the steam slowly.

He rises again and reaches to a small stand nearby. A little wooden box sits upon it; a silver handle on its side, and an intricately engraved stone ring rests on a spindle atop it. He lifts a silver pick and lightly sets its point in one of the ring’s carvings.

Satisfied, he winds the handle. As he stops, the stone ring begins to spin. He closes his eyes as a delicate chiming song fills the room. Enjoying the music, he blindly pours himself some tea with practised hands and raises the cup to his lips. He’s waited the perfect amount of time; just the right temperature to enjoy.

His ears twitch, and his eyes open. There was another skittering; much closer. That’s strange, the mice usually confine themselves to the kitchen. His sharp eyes scan the room, but he sees no movement, and his keen ears pick up no further sound.

He closes his eyes and prepares to take a sip at last. He focuses on the music and the scent of the tea. The palastra will dance with his mind and lull him into his trance in minutes.

_ Kikikiki. _

His eyes pop open a second time. That was no mouse. What in the name of the Raven Queen is in his house?

He slowly lowers his lids; keeping them open a mere slit. He takes slow breaths, tuning his ears for any little sound. His eyes scan back and forth behind his barely open lids. The seconds ticking by in his mind.

_ Kikiki. _

It came from the top of the farthest bookshelf. His eyes glow pale blue and faster than a blink, he is crouched on top of the book case. His body’s become translucent, ghostly, faintly blue like his eyes, channelling the Raven Queen’s blessing.

He stares in disbelief. There’s nothing here. No, there is something: a hole in the wall, far too big for a mouse. Perhaps a rat? Interesting; he’s never had rats before. They mostly moved out of the country for the easier living of city-life.

He shakes his head, and drops from the bookcase, resuming his corporeal form. Something’s wrong. Not only have they moved to the city, but rats don’t make such sounds.

He pads slowly to the doorway. There it is: a tiny skitter from the bedroom. He slinks over and peers inside. There is no movement, but there has been a disturbance. The blanket on the bed is ruffled slightly. He moves closer. Unless he’s much mistaken, it’s a tiny trail of footprints.

He sets the tip of his index finger in one little footprint, then his middle finger in another. Whatever’s in his house is scarcely bigger than his hand. What’s more it’s bipedal.

He kneels, lining up the footprints. They cross the bed, running straight from the chest of drawers to the old wardrobe. He lowers himself flat to the floor.

Beneath the chest of drawers beside him he spots another hole. He looks under the bed, spying a third opening in the shadows below the wardrobe. It’s a clever little thing, and a bit of a burrower.

It must have returned to the kitchen. Almost as soon as the thought enters his mind, there’s the sound of his icebox door closing. What in Shadowfell?

Whatever he’s after is perceptive, and knows his house as well as he does. How long has it been living in his walls? Judging by its size, he suddenly grows suspicious that this little intruder is behind the missing mice. Yet if it’s so small, how did it open the icebox?

He rises and makes his way to the room’s entrance. Instead of leaving, he sits in it. Now, if it tries to sneak back via the hole, or the kitchen door, he will spot it. He takes a deep breath, then begins humming softly and sweetly. It’s an old lullaby the halflings sing to their young to help them sleep.

He keeps it up, his eyes darting between the kitchen door and the hole. Minutes pass, but he remains diligent and continues the soothing tones. He wishes it no harm; pure curiosity guides him now.

Movement in the hole. He can’t quite make it out, but two dazzling little twinkles of light appear. He can see just well enough to tell it’s grey with brilliant sapphire eyes.

He continues, hoping to coax the creature out. It keeps watching, seemingly just as interested in him. Is it sapient? He pauses his humming and slowly smiles.

The eyes vanish at once. His expression falls in disappointment. Very well then, he’ll have to get more assertive. He picks up the heavy doorstop, and crosses to the wardrobe. He sets the toad-shaped, carved rock in front of the hole. It will at least slow the little sneak down.

Satisfied, he heads to the kitchen. Peering inside, he spies the wrappings from the fresh venison shanks he’d carved yesterday. A trail of blood leads to one of the cupboards. That must be where the other hole lies.

Alongside the meat’s wrapping is a half-opened block of cheese. A noticeable bite has been taken, but judging by the off-white splatter beside it, the thief had not found it palatable. Nox scratches his chin in thought. Okay, so the little sneak doesn’t like dairy. That rules out anything mammalian as far as he can tell. Then again, even he must admit nereberry-infused sevael cheese is an acquired taste. Jilaotto refuses to try it.

He notes the wrappings. They were picked open, not torn. His little interloper has hands and dextrous fingers. That might explain how it had accessed the icebox. The handle and the edge of the counter are about level with each other. It must have held onto the handle and pushed off the counter with its feet.

He slides inside as quietly as he can. He listens, but can’t hear any sound of the doorstop moving. So, the tiny intruder must be in here somewhere.

He scans the room as he fully enters. The only other thing out of place is a tin of frosted biscuits he keeps for when Jilaotto visits. One or two are nibbled, but as with the cheese they are not to the sneak’s tastes. That must have been the first little sound he heard.

Curiouser and curiouser.

He does not launch a thorough search. Instead, he makes his way to the kitchen table, and gracefully sits in one of the chairs. He’s nearly three-hundred; he has the patience, he can out wait the intruder. Minutes tick by. As they do, he grows grudgingly impressed. Whatever’s in his house is fairly determined to not be found.

Something white moves swiftly across one of the counters. Ah-hah! He rises from his chair but stops halfway.

It’s an onion. Out of the corner of his eye, a blur of grey and purple rounds the door frame and into the hallway. The vegetable was a distraction. Clever, little one. Very clever.

He leaps into the doorway. His frustration grows, not catching the sight of further movement. He was too slow.

He kneels, rubbing his chin, thinking. It makes the most sense for it to have headed back to the bedroom. Had it gone for the study, he’s sure he would have reached the doorway in time to see it. That doesn’t mean it isn’t in the study. He only blocked the passage between the bedroom and the kitchen.

It’s definitely sapient, that much he’s sure of. It threw the onion to distract him before making its move. He rubs his head. He’s starting to feel toyed with.

He twists his lips, pondering his options. He’s about to rise, when something new catches his eye. The tassels of the hallway area rug are disturbed. It’s possible it was him, yet it feels out of place.

He leans down, looking closely. There, barely perceptible, are three tiny scratches. In fact, just as the bedspread, there is a little trail of three-clawed tracks leading back to the kitchen.

So, the little sneak has claws, and appears to be three-toed. Definitely not mammalian. This keeps getting more interesting.

He returns his investigation to the rug. The trail turns sharply left there, heading straight for the wall. Above the wainscotting are four sets of tiny marks. Some are barely visible, with five punctures. The more noticeable sets have three, just like the floor.

They go straight up, all the way to the top. He furrows his brow. It had scaled the wall, and done so with blinding speed. He scans the ceiling, but there are no holes he can see.

Where in Shadowfell had it gone? His eyes drift to the hanging lamp. Sure enough, ever so slightly, it is swinging. Got you.

Nox raises two fingers and aims them at the lamp, twisting them in a little circle. It illuminates at once, and a tiny squeak emanates from the tinted shade. He catches a glimpse of a sprawled out silhouette, before it curls into an egg. The lamp starts swinging in earnest.

“Caught you, little sneak,” Nox mutters, unable to help feeling a bit smug.

He senses no malice in the creature. If anything, he would judge its ‘crime’ as being far too successful a mouser. The little egg in the lamp doesn’t respond to his words. The poor thing’s terrified, and probably blinded. Nox raises his fingers again, twisting them the other way, dousing the rune’s light.

“There now,” he coos gently. “No more light... you’re safe... I’m not going to hurt you.”

The lamp keeps gently rocking. He can no longer see the silhouette, but he hears the barely audible clinks of the tiny claws on the glass.

“That’s it...”

A pair of miniscule hands appear, gripping the edge of the lamp. They’re five-fingered, and pale grey, with an off-white palm. At the end of each is a tiny claw, just long enough to facilitate climbing his walls. What’s more, unless he’s very much mistaken, they’re scaled.

His heart aches to see the little hands shaking, clearly afraid.

“I promise... not going to hurt you...”

The sapphire eyes reappear. Inside them are vertical, cat-like slits. There are no whites that he can see. What he can see is a soft-grey head, with a faint purple stripe running from the tip of the nose to the forehead. The head is hairless and scaled as the hands are. A ring of tiny but perceptible bumps encircle the back of the head, clearly the start of what will become horns.

The tiny snout fully appears. Its flat nostrils twitch and flare rapidly, smelling him. Nox’s heart sinks and pity overwhelms him.

“Oh, you poor little thing...”

Now he’s sure it cannot understand him. He’s never seen one outside the mountains of Sunosera’s Maw. It’s kind were driven out of these lands before Nox himself was born.

Nox raises his hands as slowly as he can. He clears his throat, making his voice a falsetto. If it can’t understand his words, maybe it will appreciate his tone. It had responded positively to his humming earlier. He coos to it caringly and sadly.

It seems to work, and the little head fully emerges. It’s unmistakable. It’s a kobold hatchling. The child is still shaking slightly, but its curiosity is winning out. Judging by her flatter snout, he thinks this one’s a female. By Queen Raven’s glory, she can’t be more than a foot fall, not including her tail.

He keeps cooing gently. He considers heading to the kitchen for more meat to entice her down, but he doesn’t want to lose sight of her again. Maybe she’ll respond to sign language?

Keeping one hand stretched out to her, he points to the kitchen. Her bright eyes follow the gesture. He raises the hand to this mouth, miming eating. Then, he pats his tummy. He repeats this a couple of times, making happy coos as he does. To his delight she emerges further.

Immediately, his confusion grows at the sight of frilly, if dirty, fabric draped over her shoulders. Stranger still, he’s sure it’s familiar.

“Come on, now...” he whispers, raising both hands again.

The child tilts her head side-to-side. She extends her little face, sniffing at his fingertips.

“Won’t hurt you... you poor little thing...”

His heart raises again and swells. She puts one of her tiny hands on one of his fingertips. She’s so light he can barely feel it.

He keeps as still as he can. She tests it, and gradually, but no longer trembling, climbs out onto his right hand. Just as he thought, she is wearing a doll’s dress, and he does indeed recognise it. It belongs to one of Jilaotto’s old dolls. It’s utterly filthy and torn, most likely from her frequent scampering through the walls in search of mice.

He lets her sit on his hand. She keeps sniffing and looking at him. Queen Raven’s mercy, is she even old enough to speak her own tongue?

He knows precious little about kobold’s despite his forays through the Maw. Since being driven from their lands by humans, they completely mistrust anything humanoid. Clearly, the child is too young to know that, either.

The child slips a bit on his smooth skin. He just manages to catch her under each tiny arm. She squeaks and wriggles, kicking her three-toed feet and clawing at his skin with her hands. He winces but keeps the hold as she leaves long but shallow scratches on his hands and wrists.

After a moment she calms, realising he’s not hurting her, and she’s not falling. Again, she sniffs at his hands before looking up in his face. He’s not sure why, but an affectionate compulsion causes him to raise a thumb and delicately tap the tip of her snout with it.

“Kikiki” the child titters, her tail swishing.

He takes the reaction as a positive one. He repeats the little tap, getting another titter from her. His smile’s so broad his cheeks are hurting.

He ponders the tittering sound. He supposes it’s laughter. He thinks back to the first time he heard it from the top of the bookshelf. She was playing with him, wasn’t she? What’s more, it sounds like ‘ki’, the source of his power. His mind’s made up at once.

“‘Ki’ is it?” he smiles gently. “Alright then... Ki you are.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nox is gone. With no one else, Ki follows the instructions in Nox's final note and reaches the great human city of Kannak.

** KI **

The gulls rend the air with their cries. They’re a hundred kilometres from either the sea or Lake Sunosera, but there’s enough food here in the rivers and streams of the Kannak Delta. Nox told her many of the shrill birds have never seen the sea or the great lake.

Pain stings her heart. _Nox, where are you? Where did you go? Why did you have to leave Ki?_

The sun’s setting behind her, illuminating the great white western walls of the human capital of Kannak. She returns her attention to the structure to distract from the pain. She can barely see the top. Her neck is craned almost as far back as it can go; an accomplishment for a kobold.

She has been to the foothills of Sunosera’s Maw, but somehow this spectacle is more impressive to her. As Nox put it, deep below their feet the world’s core is molten, super-heated rock. The Maw was made by two gigantic floating plates of land pushing against each other. After millions of years, they forced up the massive peaks of both the Maw and Onischam’s Belly.

But the walls before her were made by hands. The humans began building it five hundred years ago. That was still ages, but much faster than millions.

Here and there are pockmarks and scorches; signs of ancient battles. By the look of it, Nox was right. There is no getting through those walls. It’s more impressive considering the earliest walls have sunk into the soft delta soil. In some places, it extends down at least another fifty feet into the ground.

It’s not even possible to tunnel under the walls. Protection runes are carved on the inside of the walls to repel attacks. The city is only realistically assailable by air or sea. To mitigate these weaknesses, the top of the walls are dotted with powerful runic weapons to down airships. At sea, an extensive navy patrols day and night.

The kobold studying the walls is far from the same one who Nox found in his lamp. Now twenty, she’s almost tripled in height; a hair shy of a meter tall. Her figure has matured; her hips widened and her shoulders broader. Her arms and legs look slender, but every inch of her body is muscle.

Her snout’s lengthened, though not by much. Her eyes are still sapphire blue, with a hint of whites around the large irises. She remains grey-scaled, with a pale countershaded chin and belly. The purple stripe that once ran from her nose to her eyebrows now runs all the way down her back to the tip of her tail.

She’s dressed spartan for the warm weather of the delta. She bears a soft, black, forella-fibre top, green breeches of the same material, and leather spats. She wears a necklace of feathers. It is simple, but still her most prized possession.

On her back is a pack that looks oversized for her little frame, yet she’s more than strong enough to carry it. Inside are all her worldly belongings: her short bow and arrows, her broom of flying, her clothes, and the last note from Nox she’d cut out of the wallpaper.

_ I must leave. There is no time. Sigeadlow summons. Fate of all relies on quest. Cannot promise to return. You are strong and you are brave, little Ki. Seek out Jilaotto in Kannak. _

Ki had the note memorised. She’d read it over and over during her journey. She couldn’t make sense of it. Who, or what, was Sigeadlow? Why did they need Nox? Why did everyone’s fate rely on Nox? Why couldn’t Ki go, too?

It was the most pain she’d ever felt. She’d torn and smashed a great deal of things in the house in her rage and despair. How could he just leave her? How could he not tell her to her face? What was she supposed to do?

She’s never been alone before. She always had Nox and Jilaotto. After Jilaotto moved away to work in the big city, she only had Nox. Jilaotto’s parents weren’t any help. They’d never liked her.

Voices draw Ki’s attention. There’s a humming rune-rider to her left, waiting to enter the colossal gates. The driver’s bickering with the guards who’re going over his truck with zeal. Ki shrugs her pack higher up her shoulders and starts toward the gate.

The nearest guard is over twice her height. Not that it’s difficult. There are three of them, all humans. They wear simple, leather armour bearing the city’s crest. Their tunics underneath are gold and silver; the city colours.

The truck is finally allowed to head inside. She curls her little snout at the vehicles’ brimstone scent. Fire runes always smell like that.

“The fackin’ hells is that?”

Ki looks around, roused from her distraction. One of the guards has noticed her.

“Me Ki.”

“Maw’s Mercy, it fackin’ talks!”

“Y’sure? Sounded like squeakin’ to me. Meekee?”

Ki’s eyes narrow. The handful of humans she’d met, even Jilaotto’s parents, mocked her speech. It’s not her fault she’s little. It’s not her fault her long lips and tongue cant properly form words in Common like humans.

Nox had taught her to speak as best he could. He first had her use words she could pronounce more easily. It wasn’t perfect, but it was passable. Eventually, her mastery grew, but certain quirks remain.

“It some dragonborn whelp?” the nearest guard grunts, leaning down.

_ It?! _

“Ain’t ever seen a dragonborn kid b’fore,” another remarks.

“She’s a kobold.”

The guards fall silent as heavy thuds approach. Ki peers around the closest guard. A dragonborn nears. Ki’s interest rises. She’s never seen a real dragonborn. Not outside Nox’s books, anyway. She thought they all lived on the far northern island of Aihsavuch. What’s this one doing here?

His scales are brass in colour. His eyes are a similar hue, which makes them difficult to discern. Unlike the others, he’s un-armoured. According to the books, some dragonborn find armour dishonourable. Their scales and prowess in battle are supposed to be enough protection.

“Cap’n, sir,” the closest guard salutes.

The dragonborn pays him no mind. His imperious gaze burns down on Ki. Her spirits start to drop. Even if he’s a draconid like her, he’s not going to be an ally. The captain’s eyes drift to her bow.

“Weapons are not permitted,” the captain snorts.

Ki’s eyebrows rise. “Why not?”

The captain looks more irritated.

“Cheeky l’il spit,” a human guard grunts.

“Ki here to see a friend. Ki’s friend made Ki’s bow.”

“Weapons are not permitted within the city walls,” the captain points back up the road. “More importantly, kobolds are not permitted in this sector of the city. If you wish to enter you must do so via the docks, and you will do so unarmed.”

Ki bristles. Her sharp eyes size up her chances. She can take the humans. It’s the dragonborn that worries her. She’s not afraid of those larger than her. She and Jilaotto got into plenty of fights with bigger kids when they were young. Nox trained her how to take down boar.

However, this particular dragonborn has the air of one who shouldn’t be messed with. He’s a slimmer build than most of his kind she’s seen in books. He doesn’t seem evil, but he’s definitely dangerous. The heavy maul slung across his back is glowing faintly.

“What’s the hold up? Tell the little shit to fack off!” someone bellows behind her.

Ki glares over her shoulder. There’s another rune-rider pulling up. This one’s smaller; meant for passengers. The driver looks like a squat human at first glance, with a hefty beard. On closer inspection he’s a dwarf, as is the person in the rear.

“Piss off with ya,” one of the human guards kicks a few loose stones at Ki.

Ki hisses and instinctively her hands go for her bow and quiver. Just as quickly, the dragonborn reaches for the handle of his maul. One hit from it would crush her flat. She lowers her hands, but the captain does not move his from the hilt of the maul.

A blast of sound comes from the rune-rider, shrill and brass. Ki cringes and clamps her hands over her ears.

“Oye!” a guard shouts and slams a gloved hand on the rune-rider hood. “Cut it with that!”

“Watch the bonnet!” the driver hollers back. “Know who this is?!”

Ki tries to ignore the continued spectacle as she slinks off, her ears still ringing.

“No, and ain’t one of us give two facks. What’s yer business in town?”

“Dulee Gekith,” sighs a bored, sultry voice.

Ki glances up at the car as she passes. That name sounds vaguely familiar. It’s the passenger who spoke.

He’s like no dwarf she’s seen. Dwarves often seek out Nox to guide them across the Bloody Bellows, so she’s met many before. This dwarf’s thin for his kind. If it weren’t for his beard she’d have mistaken him for a halfling. His beard is trimmed so short she can see his skin through it. He pays Ki no mind as she moves on.

“Ooo, lookit the little scaly.”

Ki freezes. Her nerves have been cut to the quick. No Nox. She’ll have to walk who knows how much farther to enter the city. Once she’s inside, she still doesn’t know where Jilaotto lives. She’s in no mood.

“A sweet little one, that,” laughs another voice.

Ki gives her antagonisers a sideways glance. They’re a human and a halfling. Unlike the other rune-riders, they’re in a horse-drawn cart. The humans’ driving while the halfling’s sitting on a stack of boxes.

The human puckers his lips at her. Her stomach churns.

“Fack’s wrong with you?” the halfling swats the human in the back of the head with his cap. “They carry diseases, they do. Ain’t even yer own damnable species.”

“Nothin’ I ain’t already got,” the human sniggers. “Wonder how tight a cloaca really is?”

He barely has time to finish the sentence before Ki strikes him in the eye with a stone.

“Maw’s sake!” the halfling cries as the human topples from the driver’s seat.

The horse pulling the cart whinnies and rears. The smaller humanoid steadies the beast then hops down, drawing a dagger. With alarming speed his blade slashes out at Ki. She’s just quick enough as it cuts the front of her shirt. That does it.

Ki’s hand grabs her quiver and the swings it around. The steel bottom catches the halfling in the temple. He grunts and crumples.

Ki turns to face the human who’s getting back to his feet. Ki draws her bow from the bag, taking advantage of the human’s dazed, pained distraction to fit the string. He spots her, one hand clamped over his bleeding eye. He snarls and blunders towards her.

Ki doesn’t have time to draw an arrow. The half-blinded assailant takes a swing down at her. Ki dodges and jams the end of the short bow into the back of his knee.

He shouts again and stumbles to the ground. In a second, Ki is standing on his back, nocking an arrow and drawing her bow. The pointed tip is pressing into his cheek. His one, good eye is bulging with alarm. The other’s swollen shut and bruising.

There’s a clicking sound. Ki whirls around to see the dwarven driver standing up on his seat. He’s drawn a rune-spitter, aiming it at Ki. Ki aims her arrow for him instead.

“Put that away!” the passenger shouts, forcing down the driver’s runespitter. “She’s defending herself!”

“But, Messer Gekith!”

Dulee gives the man a hard look. Slowly, the driver lowers the rune-spitter. Ki lowers her bow and hops off the thug. Dulee, the dwarf, continues to pay Ki no mind. Past his car, one of the human guards is starting towards her but the captain holds him back.

“Outside our jurisdiction,” the captain declares.

Ki locks eyes with him. She can tell he’s stuck somewhere between disapproval, and respect. To her surprise, he gives her the slightest of nods.

Ki grabs up her pack, but keeps her bow at the ready. She looks at her broom of flying, and then the wall. She supposes she could just wait for nightfall and fly over. But would the weapons on the wall detect something as small as Ki? She could also ride the broom to another gate, but she doesn’t want to show off that she has such a powerful magical item and draw more trouble.

Ki’s eyes rise to the gulls far overhead. She narrows them as she begins formulating a plan. Screw the captain. She’s not walking any farther. She’s not waiting for nightfall, either.

_ Ki will enter your city where Ki wants, captain, she thinks bitterly. And Ki is damn sure going in armed. _

** **** **

** MEDWIG EALWOLD, GUILDHEAD OF MINES**

What a glorious day. The sun’s still high enough to shine in over the walls. It will be a pleasant airship ride to the quaint village of Bodrats. He doesn’t travel there often, perhaps thrice a year, but he enjoys it all the same. It’s his little home away from home.

His other, and much more important joy is his wife, Ceren. She’s sitting beside him, her strong hand lying sweetly in his. Precious few in their class marry for love. He and Ceren are among the lucky few.

She was betrothed to another when Medwig first saw her. He can’t even remember the fool’s name. He was from the Qeptch family, that much Medwig could recall. Ceren came from the Kriebs.

Medwig was already married at the time. Her name was Vilaa, a lovely but simple woman from the Parvone family. She hadn’t received a proper education, and Medwig suspected she was illegitimate, as she bore no resemblance to her father. Medwig had no say in the matter.

Typically, Guildheads marry their firstborns to those of other Guildheads. Its stated purpose is to maintain peace between the rival factions. In reality, it gives the Guilds free rein to build more power and influence. After all, the more diversified the guild, the more commerce it helps control.

Medwig was the Ealwold’s oldest, and only son. Yet, Vilaa was her family’s second-born. This meant she would not inherit when her parents died. Medwig decided to correct this sleight, and never forgave his parents for the poor decision.

Within a month of seeing Ceren for the first time, Medwig’s mother and father died. It was a freak and tragic airship accident. The following week, Medwig came into the ownership of a mine in Sunosera’s Maw. It was rich in cold-infused stone; perfect for ice runes.

Kobolds previously inhabited the caves, but it had collapsed on the poor creatures. His guild’s excavations had not found a single living member of the pack. It was almost as tragic as the loss of his parents.

Medwig’s purchase of the mining rights had nearly drained the family coffers, but it was worth it. As Kannak lie on the shores of the southern sea, ice-rune stones were in constant demand for cooling homes and iceboxes. Within two years the return on his investment had doubled.

The following month came the scandal. Sailors discovered Vilaa and Ceren’s betrothed adrift in a boat in Kannak Cove. Both were dead. The healer said they’d imbibed Midnight Tears. On Vilaa was a tear-stained letter confessing her love for Ceren’s promised husband, and apologising to Medwig for her shameful affair.

Medwig was gracious. He forgave the Parvones, and took on their third-born son as his protégé, keeping the family bonds intact. In fact, Medwig and Ceren are on their way to see the young man right now. He currently runs business in Bodrats.

During the mourning, Medwig and Ceren ‘met’. It was love at first sight. The populace ate up the bittersweet story of Medwig and Ceren finding love in their pain. Ceren’s parents accepted his proposal at once. He clearly adored Ceren. What’s more, he brought them into alliance with the Parvones.

In addition to the mines, this gave Medwig stakes in textiles from the Parvones, and manufacturing from the Kriebs. It also eliminated the Qeptch family as rivals. The other Guildheads were suspicious, but it didn’t matter. They had no proof of any wrongdoing on Medwig’s part, and were compelled to expel the Qeptch from the Guildbureau.

While Medwig had hoped to claim the Qeptch’s holdings, he was forced to accept it was a step too far. It didn’t matter. His efforts had made him more powerful than any other family in the Guildbureau.

“We should do this more often,” Ceren presses, as she does every time they leave the city.

“I wish we could,” Medwig sighs, truthfully, brushing a silky strand of her hair from her face for her.

Ceren hates the city. Yet, it’s where almost all guild business is done. As a Guildhead, Medwig must be at the seat of power. He can’t let anyone else in the guild start getting ideas.

Medwig returns his attention to the drive. The driver, Hars, is silent. As he should be, being a golem. He was a gift to Medwig from his parents for his fifth birthday. He couldn’t remember life without Hars watching over him.

He obeys Medwig’s every command. He’s never more than two metres away. His parents had disapproved of him naming the silent sentinel, but what did he care? He was five at the time, and now they’re dead.

Ceren sniffs, crinkling her nose. She hates the smell of the rune-rider as well.

“We’ll be to the airfield shortly,” Medwig soothes.

“I know,” Ceren sighs. “Does not make the ride any easier.”

“Someday the artificers will discover how to do away with the smell,” Medwig chuckles. “Until then, at least it’s not horses.”

Ceren rolls her eyes at the tease. She positively adores horses. Almost as much as Medwig adores her. She has a soft spot for all animals. Their country estate outside Bodrats on Lake Sunosera has a veritable menagerie.

“You’d never stand seeing them have to pull a carriage,” Medwig teases further.

Ceren sighs. “True enough, my love.”

Almost as soon as she says this, another rune-rider being trailed by a horse-drawn cart comes into view. Ceren tenses at the sight of the put-upon horse but Medwig puts a calming hand on her shoulder.

Ceren’s disdain replaced with delight at once.

“Goodness... Meddy-love, isn’t that Dulee Gekith?”

“Gracious me,” Medwig nods. “I believe you’re right.”

Dulee Gekith is the most famous bard in the city. Unfortunately, he’s been all but ostracised from his own people for taking on too many human customs. Why shouldn’t he, if humans are his primary audience? It’s only practical.

“Stop.”

Hars brings the rune-rider to a halt. Medwig raises a hand to hail down the approaching vehicle.

The driver, a fully bearded, proper dwarf, looks particularly irritable. That’s saying something for a member of his famously temperamental race. Dulee sighs and kicks the back of the driver’s seat. The rune-rider chugs to a stop beside theirs.

“Hail, Lord and Lady Guildhead Ealwold,” Dulee greets them, rising from his seat and bowing.

His voice is more golden than the flags of Kannak.

“Hail, good Dulee,” Medwig waves.

Ceren extends a hand to him. The slim dwarf leans over, pressing her delicate knuckles to his forehead. Ceren beams, clearly aflutter as she resumes her seat.

“How was your holiday?” Medwig asks.

“Tedious, my lord,” Dulee replies. “Closed minded as ever.”

Ceren launches into conversation with the dwarf. Medwig notes the carts and rune-riders filing past, most of the road blocked. He sees their annoyed faces, but it’s of no matter. Not even another Guildhead would dare say a word.

Medwig’s eyes drift to the horse cart again. It hasn’t moved on, which he takes to mean it’s Dulee’s luggage. He’s more interested in the driver and his companion.

The driver’s a human with a heavily bandaged eye. His shoulders are sagged, looking utterly defeated. The halfling beside him seems barely conscious, with an equally thickly and poorly doctored temple.

Dulee notices Medwig’s gaze. He shakes his head in disgust.

“Pay them no mind, my Lord. They had it coming.”

“Your own porters?” Ceren’s eyebrows nearly vanish in her thick salt-and-pepper fringe.

“They got on the wrong side of a kobold, of all things,” Dulee explains.

“A kobold?” Medwig blinks.

A strange coincidence, as he’d just been thinking of the mine that began his fortunes.

“Feisty little thing,” Dulee snorts and nods to his driver. “Bepis here thought he’d unload his rune-spitter on her, but I’ve a sneaking suspicious her arrow would have found its mark first.”

The driver’s knuckles whiten on the steering sticks.

“Arrow?” Ceren scoffs. “She was armed?”

“Like a ranger of old,” Dulee chuckles. “I won’t lie to you, my Lady, I’ve been contemplating composing a sonnet or two about her. I shall have to alter a detail or two. Poetic license, and all.”

“Of course, dear bard,” Ceren smiles radiantly.

Rangers have been outlawed. The law says it is because allowing a guild to be so armed and combat trained is a threat to the city. The reality is they are competition to the city-guard, and the dragonborn order which guard the roads to the continent’s other cities.

The wealthy, like Medwig, can afford safer airship and trackcar travel. For those who can’t the dragonborns’ Order of Sigeadlow will provide protection and passage on the normal roads. It’s far slower, but the Order’s fees are reasonable.

Medwig would have voted against the move. The competition would have kept the Order’s influence in check. He does understand the logic. The lizards need to be propitiated somehow. While they never succeeded in taking Kannak, they came close several times. Their base of power is far away on Aihsavuch, but they are still the only remaining force on the planet that can rival Kannak’s power.

“What was a kobold doing here?” Medwig presses.

Dulee shrugs. “She was trying to enter the gate. Captain Szithluon sent her off.”

“I see...” Medwig muses, before chortling looking to the two woebegone figures. “What made her assault your porters?”

“Orce lobbed some lewd comments to her,” Dulee explains. “She took understandable offence.”

“You know... I should have liked to have seen that,” Ceren muses.

“It was a sight,” Dulee smiles softly. “I think even Szithluon was impressed.” Dulee finally sighs. “But I am holding you two up.”

“Not at all,” Ceren waves a dismissive hand. “We are on our way to our country home. Will you be in the city long? We should love to catch one of your performances.”

“It seems so this time,” Dulee replies kindly.

“We will only be gone a month,” Medwig adds.

“Ah, I shall be here much longer. You’re in luck my Lord and Lady.”

“Where are you staying?”

“At the Suoutinnoc,” Dulee replies, his eyes glossing over a little with delight.

Medwig knows well from his sources that Dulee is sweet on the proprietor of the inn: Thulile Wheatworth. The Wheatworths are the only nonhuman Guildheads in the Bureau, being a family of halflings. They are in charge of every inn and pub in the city. He can’t blame the dwarf. For a halfling, Thulile is quite fetching.

Ceren gives Dulee a cheeky, knowing smile. “Then we shall not take anymore of your precious time,” she teases.

Dulee’s cheeks pinken, but he doesn’t seem the slightest abashed.

“I beg your leave then, my Lord and Lady,” Dulee bids them farewell, bowing again.

The driver touches his cap to Medwig and Ceren as the rune-rider chugs to life. The cart-driver and his dazed compatriot do not show proper signs of deference as they pass. Medwig briefly considers calling for a guard to teach them respect, but after a moment he decides they’ve likely learned enough for one day. Not to mention it would further delay Dulee.

“Onward,” Medwig bids Hars.

Their rune-rider resumes chugging forward, picking up speed. Medwig and Ceren make further idle chitchat as they make their way to the Grand Gate. It has been sometime since he’s seen the good dragonborn captain of the guard. While the city-guard’s guild is headed by the Remmat family, they hired Szithluon to do the day-to-day running of the guard.

Of course, they did so on Medwig’s recommendation. Szithluon is not a paladin as most dragonborn. He was born on Sunosera, rather than Aihsavuch. Medwig had found him fighting for money. He had studied enough combat to recognise a natural at work. As a result, Szithluon was not only fiercely loyal to the Remmats, but also to Medwig.

At last, he spies the gate as they round the final corner. It stands almost as tall as the walls themselves. Captain Szithluon is beside the blockhouse, speaking to some of his guards.

The bronze scaly spots them coming, and raises a hand in greeting.

“Hail, Lord and Lady Guildhead Ealwold,” he addresses them in the proper way.

“Hail,” Medwig smiles kindly. “On our way to the airfield.”

Szithluon bows deeply, until his snout nearly touches the street. He’s lithe for a dragonborn, having lived rough for so long. As a result, he’s deadly fast.

“I understand there was a commotion when dear Dulee came through?” Ceren asks.

Szithluon snorts, stinging the air with acrid smoke.

“Yes... a kobold of all things attempting to enter this gate. I sent her off to the docks.”

“As well you should,” Medwig nods sagely. “At least the day was not boring?”

“That is fair enough, my Lord.”

“Cap’n...?”

“She did assault Messer Gekith’s porters, but it was outside city jurisdiction. According to Messer Gekith’s testimony, she had cause. She left before a proper apology could be rendered by his porters.”

“I see...”

“C-Cap... Cap’n!”

“What is it?” Szithluon snarls in agitation.

“Take a look at this!”

Szithluon crosses to the smaller doors carved into the gate. Medwig and Ceren exchange a puzzled look. He focuses, drawing on his patron’s energy. He can feel Ceren’s own power crackle beside him. Neither of them truly need Hars for protection.

“Captain...?” Medwig queries.

Szithluon steps into the doorway and freezes at once.

“Down!” he bellows. “Everyone down!”

The reason for alarm is apparent at once. The air is rent by a cacophony of shrieks and caws. The world becomes white and grey as hundreds of gulls begin pouring in through the gate.

The attack is overwhelming. Hars is flailing ineffectually in the air trying to hit the agile birds. Ceren draws out a small crystal but Medwig quickly claps a hand on it. Cone of Cold was more likely to hit an unwitting guard or Szithluon than it was to deter the birds.

He’s not sure how, but the incongruous little figure in the cloud of gulls catches his eye. Rocketing through the door, past the distracted guards, comes a grey, black, and green streak. It’s bigger than an individual gull, but still petite. What’s more, it has a tail.

It’s a kobold.

The little creature seems to pass in slow motion. Medwig can make out every detail. Her eyes are sapphire blue, yet burn with triumph. There’s the bow and quiver, just like Dulee said. Of all things, she’s riding on a flying broomstick.

Medwig looks to the gulls flapping around his head. That’s not a coincidence. The kobold got the gulls to swarm the gate. By Eservatem’s Maelstrom, she’s a ranger.


	3. Chapter 2

NOX

Life with Ki has taken more adjusting than Nox anticipated. It’s been three weeks, and he’s quickly learned that a kobold hatchling is a far cry from most any other child. There’s no true comparison. At the moment it’s more like trying to raise an impossibly smart kitten than an elf or human child.

By the end of the first week, he was forced to board up all the holes. Ki was apoplectic. She wailed and tantrumed around the hut. She would sulk and pout at him anytime he looked at her.

It’s not her fault; it’s too dangerous. He doesn’t want her breathing the ancient insulation he’s filled the walls with. There are also many sharp nails and things to cut herself on.  
Of course, by the end of the second week, she just carved brand-new holes. He was honestly too impressed with how quickly and quietly she’d done so he wasn’t truly annoyed. The tales of Kobolds’ ability to burrow are more than talk.

His solution was instead to find some old drain pipes. As they are metal, she’s unable to carve through them. In short order, he’s shaped the old pipes for the new holes. He’s dulled and rolled back the edges to make them extra safe, then slid them through. She can still move with ease from room to room, but she can’t get into the walls themselves.

It’s now the end of the third week, and this seems to have settled the matter. Ki has discovered that the insides of the pipes are slippery. This means they make excellent slides.  
He’s reminded of this as Ki skids into his knees as he kneels on his meditation mat. She’s timed his meditations perfectly.

“Hello, Ki,” he greets her without opening his eyes.

“Hehlloh,” the literally pint-sized being hisses back, her tail flipping back and forth to indicate she’s pleased with herself.

_Hello_ , he translates in his head.

She’s learning, but slowly. He’s not trying to push her, but he does his best to talk around her all the time. He describes everything he’s doing in detail. He takes care to repeat himself, to help her connect the word with the object or action.

He’s aware she may never fully grasp Common. It’s not a cognitive issue; Kobold mouths aren’t properly shaped for humanoid communication. Dragonborn can do so, but they have been properly interacting with humanoids for millennia.

He’s been reading up on kobolds since the little imp came into his life. Little is truly known about their culture. They keep to their caves, disdaining the towering humans who drove them from their homes. He can’t blame them.

Perhaps when Ki is older, he will take her into the mountains to look for more of her kind. The sensible part of his mind tells her that he should seek her tribe. _She belongs with her own,_ the voice tells him.

Yet, a deeper, if more rational, part of his mind tells him otherwise. They are fifty kilometres from the foothills of Sunosera’s Maw; the mountain chain the kobolds now call home. How did Ki, at her size, get here?

It’s a mystery, and one that fills him with foreboding. He opens his eyes and gazes on the child getting to her tiny feet. He tries to hide his pity. He fears greatly for what happened to her tribe

  
“Hungry?” Nox asks, knowing full well the answer.

“Less, Noksss!” Ki half hisses, half squeaks.

_Yes, Nox!_ He chuckles and rubs his thumb on the top of her smooth head. She titters her telltale _kikiki_ and clambers up his robe to his shoulder.

He rises and she slips into his collar, wrapping herself around his neck like a warm, scaly scarf. Her warmth surprised him at first. Being reptilian, his first thought was she would be cold blooded, but she clearly creates her own internal warmth, and her appetite is far too strong for an ectothermic organism.

She smells fresh and clean as her head rests on her tail beneath his chin. Now that she’s not eating mice and living in the walls, he’s been able to clean her properly. Baths have been a major adjustment as well.

His hands twitch a little, still remembering the scratches she gave him the first few trial baths. Tiny or not, her claws are sharper than razors. Once she finally got in the sudsy sink, she became delighted. Then she decided to try eating the soap bubbles. Failing that task, she opted to drink the water instead. After a night’s vomiting, it took another week to re-convince her bathwater is safe.

He heads to the kitchen. He’s unable to help smiling at the ceiling lamp. Sometimes when he passes, he thinks he can still see it swinging slightly.

Life with Ki may be taking some adjusting, but already he can’t imagine being in the hut without her. When she naps, the silence grows heavy on him. How has he been so lonely for so long and never noticed?

He’s almost to the kitchen entrance when his sharp ears detect the patter of feet approaching his door. His smile only grows. He supposes it is time for introductions.

He has told Jilaotto of Ki. However, he wanted to let Ki totally settle in the house before bringing in anyone new. Since then she has pestered him almost daily.

“Messer Nox,” she calls through the door as she knocks enthusiastically.

The moment the girl begins knocking, Ki slips from his neck down the back of his robe. Her claws dig through his undershirt, straight into his flesh. He grimaces and closes his eyes, forcing himself not to start or show she hurt him.

He takes a breath and opens the door for Jilaotto. The girl beams.

“Hello, Jilaotto,” he greets her kindly.

“It’s been three weeks, Messer Nox!” She bounces eagerly on the balls of her feet.

She’s sweaty and her hair’s dishevelled; her face is more copper than normal. She must have run the entire way. Her expression is so determined his resolve falters at once.

“It has,” he tells her. “But you must calm yourself, first. She’s very excitable.”

“Where is she?” Jilaotto asks, leaning side-to-side to peer past him into the hallway.

“Presently she is afraid and digging her little claws surprisingly deeply into my back,” he mutters, his lips still tight from the tiny pricks of pain.

“Oh, sorry!” Jilaotto gasps, ceasing her bouncing at once and looking guilty.

“It’s okay, you’re excited,” he smiles stiffly. “Catch your breath, and I will take her into my study. She feels safest there. It is best to move slowly and calmly. Let her get used to you.”

“Like meeting a new puppy or kitty?” Jilaotto asks.

“I... something like that. But she’s not pet. She’s a child, just as you once were.”

“Sorry...”

“It’s alright. Are you calm?”

Jilaotto’s hair bounces as she nods. He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a couple more minutes,” Jilaotto mumbles, hanging her head.

“It is her snack-time. There are some meat-sticks in the icebox. Fetch her one. Offering her food will help.”

“Okay...” the impatient twelve-year old sighs, her forked tail thrashing the path in agitation.

Nox’s apprehension rises, but this will have to happen sooner or later. Ki’s first encounter with a bath had not gone well, yet she came around. He heads down the hallway.

“Ki...” Nox whispers gently as he closes the door.

Ki begins climbing back up. Mercifully, she’s calmer, and ascends slowly, able to keep her talons out of his skin.

“You’re okay,” he coos softly, using phrases she understands.

He holds up a hand for her, which she promptly climbs onto.

“You’re okay,” he repeats.

He carries her to her pillow beside the music box. She hops down into it, sitting, clearly calming.

“You make new friend,” he says, keeping his words simple. “Jilaotto.”

Ki tilts her head back and forth as she listens.

“Jilaotto,” he says, smiling to show the word pleases him. “Can you say it?”

Ki opens her mouth. Her little tongue flicks about, her lips wiggling as she tries to remember how to move her mouth to pronounce the sounds.

“Jiyawddo.”

“Yes, _Jilaotto._ ”

“Jiwaddo.”

_That may have to do..._

The knock on the door is gentler this time. Jilaotto clearly listened. His apprehensions lessen.

“You may come in.”

The door cracks open slowly. One of Jilaotto’s horns and silver eyes appears in the gap. Ki tilts her head side-to-side, studying the newcomer.

“Oh she’s so little...” he hears Jilaotto gasp under her breath.

“She is,” he replies gently.

“And...” Jilaotto pushes the door open wider. “Is that the dress to my old doll...?”

Ki is indeed wearing the old toy clothes. It’s still tattered, but much cleaner than it was.

“I thought that’s where it came from.”

Jilaotto fully enters the room. She’s holding the meat-sticks, which immediately catch Ki’s eye. The pint-sized draconid’s tail begins twitching and thumping on the pillow eagerly. Jilaotto giggles a little at the excited gesture.

“Dad and Mum made me get rid of the doll...” Jilaotto informs him, sullenly, “said I’m too big for one now I’m helping in the shop.”

Nox sighs. _What the hell is wrong with humans?_

“Well, it has helped out Ki then, hasn’t it?” Nox smiles looking for a silver-lining for Jilaotto.

“Guess so,” the girl shrugs a little.

“Here, sit in my chair.”

Jilaotto moves cautiously to the soft seat. She sits, the meat in her lap. Ki climbs onto Nox’s shoulder, peering past his chin to keep the treats in sight.

“Ki, this is Jilaotto. She’s a good friend.”

“Jiwawddo,” Ki tries again.

Jilaotto giggles.

“I think that’s as close as we’re going to get for now,” Nox chuckles. “Ki. Do you know my name?”

“Nossh!”

“See?”

Jilaotto giggles again. Ki moves to his other shoulder, even closer to Jilaotto.

“Where did she come from?” Jilaotto asks, holding out a stick.

She starts as Ki’s nimble hands dart forward and pluck the stick from her fingers. Ki zips back to Nox’s opposite shoulder, beginning to gnaw on the treat furiously.

“Now, now,” Nox mutters, scooping Ki up and placing her on his lap instead. “No need to be shy.”

Ki ignores him, continuing to eat, cooing with delight.

“I’m not sure,” Nox returns to her question “I know some kobold still live in Kannak... but as far as I’m aware they have no ties to the mountains. And no mountain kobold is ever going to leave them for the city. So it’s doubtful she was part of any caravan moving through between the mountains and Kannak. Even if she was, the pack would be tearing the countryside apart trying to find her.”

“Yeah?”

“Family and the pack are intrinsic parts of kobold society. A separated kobold tends to go mad with grief and loneliness.”

“Then why isn’t Ki?”

“Several reasons, I’m sure. Mostly, I believe she’s too young. Which probably means that it’s, at least partly, a learned behaviour in kobolds.”

“Learned behaviour?”

“Not instinct,” Nox explains. “Take birds. Birds do not teach their young how to build nests. They just know how to do it from birth. They may need practice once they begin, but the instinct to make it and the general idea is already there.”

Jilaotto nods slowly.

“Also, because she’s so young, I think she’s imprinted on me a little. She views me as another member of her pack, if not her parent.”

The pair fall silent, watching as Ki eats.

“So... what...”

“As I said, I don’t know...” Nox sighs. “But I’m afraid...”

“Something bad?”

“I think something very bad,” Nox replies.

Jilaotto’s a smart child, and mature for her age. He doesn’t need to sugar-coat things for her.

“Whatever happened... I think her entire pack was lost. Or perhaps their nest was raided by a beast, and they think Ki was among the hatchlings taken.”

“Are you gonna go look for them?”

“I’ve considered it... but who would watch Ki?” Nox rubs the top of his head. “Your parents have many lovely qualities but I’m doubtful they would accept caring for a kobold in my absence.”

Jilaotto twists her lips a little.

“She’s too young to take with me... and by the time she is old enough, trying to re-integrate her into her culture will likely be impossible.”

“I could watch her...” Jilaotto offers, pouting.

“I bet you could, though I doubt your parents would approve yet,” Nox smiles sympathetically.

Ki starts sniffing and looking to Jilaotto again.

“Ah-ah,” Nox tuts. “We ask if we want more.”

“Jiwawoddo,” Ki hisses. “Ki mowre?”

“How do you ask?”

“Peez?”

Jilaotto holds out another meat-stick. Ki ascends to his shoulder and onto the stand beside the chair. She sniffs the treat before reaching out her tiny hands and plucking it neatly from Jilaotto’s fingers.

“She’s so precious,” Jilaotto squeaks under her breath.

“She’ll warm to you properly the more you’re here,” Nox explains.

“What does her skin feel like?”

“Much like a snake or lizards,” Nox tells her frankly. “Ki?”

She looks up at him.

“Do you want scratches?”

The tiny child’s eyes pop open.

“Skashes?”

“Yes, Ki. Jilaotto would like to give you some scratches.”

Ki turns her wide, eager eyes to Jilaotto.

“Trust me, even more than food; you give good ‘skashes’ you will be her friend forever.”

“A friend would be nice...” Jilaotto mumbles under her breath.

“I think Ki would enjoy that, too,” Nox smiles.

Ki tentatively climbs onto Jilaotto’s knee.

“Just like this,” Nox explains, holding up his hand and wriggling a fingertip. “Up and down her back and neck. She also enjoys her cheeks.”

Jilaotto nods. He can sense her tension, afraid she’ll do it wrong. Ki arches her back, her head between her knees.

Ki shivers and coos with delight as Jilaotto begins giving little scratches with a fingertip just behind Ki’s head. Jilaotto is beside herself, trying to contain her delight.

“Definitely different than an actual baby,” Nox chuckles.

“Very,” Jilaotto whispers, moving her fingertip up and down Ki’s lightly ridged spine.

“She’ll grow quickly,” Nox continues. “The books I’ve found say they mature much faster than you will. It won’t be immediate, but she should catch up with you in a few years.”

“How does that work?”

“Kobolds are little, even when all grown up. They need to grow quickly, otherwise lots of things in the mountains want to eat them.”

Jilaotto’s eyes bulge in horror at the prospect.

“Nothing around here,” Nox raises his hands. “Such beasts were driven from this area long ago; same as the kobolds. She’s very safe, here.”

“Ki safess!” Ki beams up at Jilaotto.

“Yes, Ki very safe,” Nox smiles gently.

The trio fall silent as Jilaotto continues to give Ki little scratches. Her brow furrows time to time, clearly thinking.

“Do... you have a needle and thread...? I could fix her dress for her...”

“Of course,” Nox nods. “That would be very kind of you.”

Ki blinks, looking up at Jilaotto, then down at her dress.

“Fiss dess?”

“Would you like that?”

Ki doesn’t respond. Nox is sure she doesn’t entirely understand the concept or what is being said.

“It’s in the bedroom. Ki, do you remember washing dress?”

Ki mimes scrubbing with her hands.

“Wass, wass, wass.”

“Yes, exactly,” Nox smiles. “Jilaotto will make dress nicer.”

“Ki ssee?”

“Ki can see,” Nox nods.

Ki scampers up to Jilaotto’s shoulder in the blink of an eye. Jilaotto jumps a bit, but relaxes. Ki’s distracted at once. She begins sniffing Jilaotto’s cheek, then her horns.

“Horns,” Nox smiles. “Just like Ki will have.”

“Ki haff?”

“Someday.”

“Ki haff?”

“Not yet, Ki.”

Ki’s distracted again by Jilaotto’s hair. She gives her kikiki titter of delight and dives into the flowing ebony locks. Jilaotto gasps and goes rigid.

“Tickles. It tickles!”

Ki jumps out the other side on Jilaotto’s opposite shoulder, turning and burying herself back in the hair. Nox’s heart rises into his throat as he watches. Jilaotto’s never had a true friend. It’s not just being a tiefling, it’s also having to help in the family shop. Seeing her take to Ki, and Ki take to her in return, fills him with a joy he’s not felt in years.

“Ow, ow, pulling.”

“Careful, Ki.”

Ki pauses. She’d been just tossing and turning inside the hair, almost tying herself in knots.

“Give Jilaotto an owie.”

“Owie?” Ki pouts.

“Yes, owie’s are bad.”

“Owie bad,” Ki nods. “Ki sowwy.”

Ki stops struggling so much, but still remains buried in Jilaotto’s hair. The young tiefling rises gingerly from the chair, not wanting to dislodge the tiny kobold.

“The sewing kit is in the top drawer of the wardrobe,” Nox tells her as she starts making her way to the door.

She looks as though she’s trying to walk with a priceless vase balanced on top of her head. She needn’t be so careful, but he appreciates her efforts all the same. She’s in more danger of Ki falling as she plays in Jilaotto’s hair and using her claws to--

“OW! HOW ARE THEY SO SHARP?!”

Nox sighs.


End file.
